I'm very glad to have read this book, but good grief was it a chore to get through. Cruse has an interesting argument: that Black American intellectual life (c. 1968) remains hamstrung by its inability to move past allegiances to white communism, nationalism, and integrationism. So far so good.
Now imagine someone yelling that at you for 600+ unbearably repetitive pages. Not a pleasant experience, nor a profitable one.
Add to this some extraneous, far less useful claims: for instance, his attempt to position Black Americans as nothing less than the subject of American revolutionary politics, while also insisting that no actually existing Black Americans, other than himself, have any frigging idea about anything; or his claim that Harlem, in particular, is the epicenter of that historical subject.
It's important to note that Cruse's work is, in some ways, ahead of its time, and is also worth reading for intellectual history purposes. In particular, his insistence on the importance of the media in American politics was a good one.
But he makes no positive claims other than "we have to do everything perfectly at once," which isn't so helpful. I don't mind when people don't make positive claims. But if you're going to shred every living soul to pieces, you'd better do *something* other than gesture at a vague utopia.